Ninth Day of Christmas
by AmandaxxPlease
Summary: He never imagined calling himself an addict, but that was exactly what he was. Part 9 of the 12 Days of Christmas series.


**Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or their universe, just my plot within them.**

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><p><strong>Ballet<strong>

Watching her was like a drug. He hated himself more and more as it continued, but the need to see her dance, to see _her_, outweighed the self-hatred. So every Tuesday evening, Thursday free period, and Sunday afternoon, he found himself trailing after her to the Room of Requirement and watching her through the two way glass that the room provided.

He watched as she changed into her leotard, sometimes with tutu, sometimes without. He watched as she successfully got her wild hair into a bun. He watched every time she began to stretch, the weight from her shoulders being lifted. She no longer looked like a hunched old book lady, but a girl, a woman, who had no cares in the world. Whose face never frowned because of the oncoming war, the pressure of being best friends with "The Chosen One," or a sixteen year old, blond bully who was in love with her. He watched her dance and dance and dance.

Today she was dancing to something written by Tchaikovsky. He believed it was called Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy but he was unsure. She was dressed in white and the lights were dark; she was finally showcasing what she had been rehearsing for months: her Christmas piece and his silent present to himself. He vowed that this was his last time watching her.

Hermione Granger was the most beautiful and disgusting person he had ever been fortunate enough to encounter.

She was beautiful because she was a witch.

She was beautiful because she was the brightest witch.

She was beautiful because she valued hard work and honesty.

She was beautiful because she danced.

She was beautiful because she was muggle-born.

And she was disgusting because she made him question his entire life.

Draco Malfoy hated being unsure about anything and she made him unsure about everything. He was unsure about the beliefs that his father force fed him from childhood. He was unsure if he could fix the cabinet. He was unsure if he should. He was unsure about the safety of his mother. He was unsure about if he should tell Hermione that he has been watching her. "_I wish she knew that I was here," _he thought.

The walls started to shake and the sound of breaking glass filled Draco and Hermione's ears. In the next moment, part of the wall in front of Malfoy shattered to the ground, leaving nothing between him and her. As the dust cleared, Malfoy watched the look of disgust that washed over Hermione's face.

"Malfoy. What the hell are you doing here?"

Draco got up and walked into the room, leaving his silent side room. He tried to fix his face into a sneer, but he couldn't quite get it right and he just looked sad. "Hello, Granger. I knew someone was teaching ballet to Potter. I never knew it would be the frumpy, know-it-all."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, narrowed her eyes and studied Malfoy. He could feel her anger and scrutiny rolling off her body.

"I was watching you," he said abruptly, hoping she would give him time to explain before hexing him to oblivion. "I have been for months now. Since the beginning of the year actually. For someone who is supposed to be really smart, you're really bad about not looking suspicious."

Hermione just stared at him with thin eyes but her arms conveyed self-consciousness as they began moving to cover her stomach and bare arms. She felt exposed but would hold her ground. "That is stalking, Malfoy, and is illegal even in the Wizarding world. Not to mention cowardly and gross."

He couldn't fight back or deny her claim because she was right about it all so he just stood there staring at her, letting silence drown them. This was the first time he noticed that the music had stopped.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Get out!" Hermione's face was as red as Ron Weasley's hair. From embarrassment or anger, Draco couldn't tell. Probably a mix of the two.

"I don't want to."

"Excuse me," Hermione questioned, twirling her wand in her fingers. He wasn't sure when she had retrieved it, but she must have used a silent _Accio_. Damn, she was impressive.

"Are you deaf, Granger? I said I don't want to," he drawled lazily.

In a few strides, Granger was there, pressing her wand into his throat. He wasn't fighting back and had never planned to. "Get out and never speak of this."

"Why don't your friends know about this side of you, Granger? Too scared they'll muck up the only peaceful thing in your life?"

"I love my friends."

"I never said you didn't. Bloody Gryffindors."

"I said get out! If you don't, I'll oblivate you and send you on your merry way to St. Mungo's. This," she said, gesturing to the room, "will be gone along with your name and life and memories. You will remember no one and be no one."

"Do it."

Hermione faltered at the desperate sound of his voice. She wasn't sure what to say.

"Do it, Granger. Please. I'd rather it all be gone anyway. DO IT!" he screamed in her face, seeing his unhinged reflection in her glossy orbs. Malfoy slid his back down one of the mirrors. "It would be the best Christmas gift anyone's ever given to me. Besides the gift I gave myself this year."

Hermione hated her curious nature, but it won out over logic. "And what did you give yourself for Christmas?"

"This." His voice was raw and serious. "You. One last time."


End file.
